Yet she did not after this seek him out, or try to make their relations
closer in any way. On the contrary, it was a few days later that the
first serious quarrel of their lives occurred. Murdough had not been
near her for over a fortnight. She did not even know where he was, for
he had got into the habit of being continually away on the mainland, no
one knew where or for what. Late one afternoon, however, he came and
beckoned mysteriously to her to come out on the platform and speak to
him. He was evidently--for the moment, at all events--as sober as a
judge.
She went. There was a worn, dragged look about her face, due partly to
watching, partly to anger, partly to the cross-fire at war within her.
She was longing to quarrel fiercely with him; to have it all out; to
rage and storm at him; to startle him, if she could, with her anger; and
then--and then--to tell him that she loved him better than all the world
besides; that she would do anything he liked; that she did not care how
he behaved, not even how often he got drunk, if only he would not leave
her always alone, if only he would care for her a little, a very little,
more. The recollection of that evening in the boat still clung and clung
to her very heart-strings. The sun was setting as she came out upon the
platform; a warm wind swept round the rocks; the little tansies and
saxifrages were all bathed in the dusky yellowish light.
Murdough had something important to say, however, and, therefore, wasted
no time in useless and quite unaccustomed preliminaries.
‘Then I would not have called you out, Grania, for I know you do not
like to be called, and that is why I have kept away so much, so it is,’
he said, with his customary air of ingenuousness. ‘But to-day it is in a
little bit of difficulty I am again, a little bit of trouble and
difficulty, so it is to you I have come.’
She put her back against her old friend, the boulder, and waited to
learn what she was to do.
‘It is just a little bit more of the money that I want you to give me,
that is what it is; yes, indeed, nothing more,’ he went on, with the
same air of ingenuousness, smoothing down his hair as he spoke. His eyes
looked as clear that evening, the rascal, his whole aspect as fresh,
vigorous, and wholesome as though he had never tasted anything stronger
in his life than buttermilk.
‘Thirty shillings it is this time, and it is to Micky Sulivan of
Allyhaloo that I owe it, and he is a hard man, is Micky Sulivan! My God,
yes, a very hard man, everyone knows that, a real nigger. He will not
wait one week for his money, he says; no, nor a single day.’
An angry light was beginning to awaken in Grania’s eyes.
‘And why should I give you thirty shillings for Micky Sulivan, Murdough
Blake?’ she said, in a tone that had a suggestion of distant thunder in
it. ‘It is a great deal of money I have given you this quarter already,
so I have--a great deal of money!’
Murdough looked hurt. There was every reason why she should give it in
his opinion. She had it, and he wanted it. What better reason could
there be?
‘Then I did not think you would speak so to me, Grania O’Malley, I did
not,’ he answered in a tone of natural indignation. ‘And for “a great
deal,” you have given me money three times, but not much at any one
time, my God, no, not much at all! Fifteen shillings it was once, and
seventeen shillings another time, and twenty-two shillings another. That
is not much, even when you put it all together, not much at all. There
is young Macdara O’Flaherty, he will spend two, three, four, pounds,
real gold pounds, right off and think nothing of it. I did not think you
would speak so, Grania O’Malley, when all the world knows that we two
are to be married shortly, and you such a rich girl.’
The angry light in Grania’s eyes grew stronger. She set her back
squarely against her old friend. She was going to have her turn for
once.
‘It is not the rich girl I would be, not the rich girl, but the beggar;
yes, the beggar, and nothing else, out upon the cold, naked rocks, that
is what I should be, if I were to marry you, Murdough Blake, so it is!’
she exclaimed, striking the stone beside her, anger upon the subject she
did not greatly care about breaking loose because anger upon the subject
that she did care about must perforce be kept hidden away. Once begun,
however, it was easy enough to go on upon this topic.
‘For it is the shame and the talk and the disgrace of the world you are
getting to be! There is not a man, nor a woman, nor a child, down to the
youngest on Inishmaan, but knows you, and knows that it is the truth!
Drinking and drinking, and making a heathen beast and fool of yourself,
gadding about the town from morning till night, always drinking,
drinking, drinking! Is it to make a _baulyore_ of myself that I would be
giving you my money and be marrying you? then I will not do it, so do
not think it. I will not make a _baulyore_ of myself for any man that
ever was born. Do you think it is the wife of a man like Shan Daly that
I want to be? to be working and working for ever, and him drinking the
whole world dry, and spending the money faster than I could make it if I
had six hands, and more? No, indeed, that is not the sort of man I will
marry, so I will not! It is a good man, and a sober man, and a decent
man I will have, and no other will serve me, not if he were the only man
in the whole world and the king of it, so you need not think it! And
that is my last word to you, so it is, Murdough Blake, my very last
word, God help me, therefore you may believe me.’
She stopped short, hot and panting. The words had rushed out with a
fluency quite unlike her usual utterances. They were driven by that
fierce current behind them. They came in this form simply because they
were longing, but forbidden, to come in quite another one.
Murdough was genuinely astonished. Those secret currents, pent up,
longing and struggling madly to find an exit, were invisible to him, and
quite unsuspected, but that Grania would dream of changing her mind
about marrying him had never so much as dawned upon his imagination. If
his notions about love and all that belonged to it were of the dimmest,
his notions about himself and all that belonged to himself, including
his obvious desirability as a husband, were of the clearest and most
definite character. Grania belonged, too, to him, always _had_ belonged
to him, no one else had ever pretended to rival him in her eyes. Her
admiration of him, and of his various gifts and graces, had been patent
to all men; she had never concealed it, or attempted to conceal it. All
Inishmaan knew that in her eyes there was no one like him either on the
island or off the island, and that a mere occasional lapse from
sobriety, a mere occasional demand for a little extra ready money, that
trifles of this sort could seriously be held a reason for giving him up
was too ridiculous an idea to find entry readily into his mind.
He cast about for a minute how to answer. What did she mean? What was
she driving at? Who had been putting notions into her mind? Was it
Honor, or who? That his wisest course would have been to be a little
affectionate to her; to have appealed to her affection for him; to have
put his arms round her; nay, if so wild, so utterly unprecedented a
course had proved necessary, to have actually gone so far as to kiss
her; that _this_ was what she wished, what she was waiting for, he did
not know in the least. It was a great pity there was no one at hand to
tell him so, for he was really an exceedingly intelligent young man,
quick to take a hint, and would doubtless have essayed even this
unpractical method of argument had he known it to be the one most
likely to succeed under the circumstances. He was by this time very much
in earnest, and had no idea of being in his turn made a _baulyore_ of,
as she had said, and a laughing-stock before all Inishmaan. He did not
know it, however, and the result was that natural annoyance prompted him
to take up quite a different line, one not nearly so well calculated to
be successful. It was an error of judgment, but to such errors even
intelligent people are occasionally liable.
‘Begorra, this is grand news you have for me this evening, Grania
O’Malley, so it is!’ he exclaimed, with a loud laugh, though his face
was red, and an angry look in his eyes betrayed some lack of
indifference. ‘Grand news, glory be to God, and ’tis myself is obliged
to you for telling it to me! And who is it that you’re going to take up
with, now you’ve given me the go-by, if you’ll be so polite as to tell
me? ’Tis some rich gentleman over from the Continent, I’ll be bound,
that you have been putting your _comether_ upon, or, may be, a lord from
Dublin? Gorra, ’tis the proud place Inishmaan will be when it sees him
coming to carry you off! my faith, yes; the proud place and the proud
people we’ll be, every one of us! Sure, how could a poor young fellow
like myself have any chance with you, so grand and so proud as you’ll
be? Musha, it’s not Irish will do you then to speak, I suppose, but the
best of fine scholar’s English, and a grand house with a slate roof on
it you’ll have no doubt to live in, and a servant, please God, or maybe
two, to wait on you. Och, glory! glory! it _will_ be the great day for
Inishmaan when Grania O’Malley is seen sailing off with her new husband
the lord from Dublin! _Wurrah! Wurrah!_ the grand day, please God, and
no mistake.’
The jeering tone, the laughter, the sting of all this from Murdough,
_Murdough_, of all people in the world, lashed Grania to madness. She
looked wildly round her for a weapon--physical or otherwise it mattered
little--blind, helpless anger possessing her. Suddenly the remembrance
of her thoughts a few nights before--of her momentary notion about Teige
O’Shaughnessy--returned to her mind, and she seized upon it. It was a
poor weapon, as she probably knew, but it was the only one visible upon
the spur of the moment.
‘Then it is no gentleman I am going to marry, so it is not! no gentleman
at all, for it is enough of fine, idle gentlemen I have had, God knows,
and that is the sort I am tired of!’ she exclaimed. ‘It is a quiet boy,
and a decent boy, and a poor boy that I am going to marry, one that will
work hard, and not drink, drink, drink, day and night, till he doesn’t
know his one hand from the other, or the floor from the roof over his
head, or the sun from the moon, or the grass from the stones, or God’s
green earth from the salt black bottom of the sea! It is a good man and
a faithful man, and a man that will love me, and care me, that is the
sort of man that I want and that I am going to be married to, so I am.
And if you wish to know the name of him, it is Teige O’Shaughnessy, and
_that_ is the man I have chosen, and whom I am going to marry, so it is,
Murdough Blake; the very same, no other!’
Murdough stared at her for a moment in open-eyed astonishment. Then he
burst into a still louder laugh, a laugh that might have been heard
right across the island. This time it was quite a genuine one. His
vanity, which would have been touched to the quick if Grania had thrown
him over for someone whom he could by any possibility have looked upon
as a rival, was left untouched, was even gratified, by the mention of
Teige O’Shaughnessy, between whom and himself no such rivalry was in his
eyes possible; nay, the very juxtaposition of their images was a sort of
indirect compliment to himself. His sense, therefore, of the ridiculous
was genuinely tickled. Besides, to do him justice, he did not believe
her in the least.
‘Auch! then, glory, glory! Glory to God! and more power to you, Grania
O’Malley, but it _is_ the grand man, sure enough, you have chosen, so it
is! The grand man, the handsome man, and the rich man, glory be to God!
Och! but it is the right sight and show you will be when you and Teige
O’Shaughnessy are married! Glory to God! the right sight and show, and
the fine, straight, handsome husband it is you will have, bedad! Arrah!
will you be so obliging as to tell me was it the handsome, straight legs
of him, or the beautiful spotty face of him, or the fine colour of his
hair that first took the fancy to? Or maybe it was the beautiful big
house he has to give you on top of the rocks yonder? or the nice,
sweet-tempered aunt he keeps in it, that will be such pleasant company
to talk to when you are sitting there by yourself? My faith and word,
Grania O’Malley, it is myself will laugh to see you and Teige
O’Shaughnessy when you are man and wife! Gorra, I will tell you now what
I will do--then I will, please God!--I will go out in a curragh, and
will bring with me every bouchaleen upon Inishmaan, and we will all go
out together on to the sea, and will follow you to watch and look at
you, when you are on your way to Aranmore to be married to Teige
O’Shaughnessy. Glory be to God! Glory be to God! it _is_ the match you
have got hold of, sure enough! my faith and word, the match! Och! ’tis
killed I’ll be with the laughing!’ And he rolled to and fro upon the
rocks.
Grania’s face was scarlet. She sprang forward till she was within half a
foot of him. Blind rage possessed her. She shook from head to foot, and
clenched her fists in his face. A little more and she would have
pummelled him soundly with them.
‘Out of this! Out of this! Out of it with you this very minute!’ she
cried. ‘Get off this ground, and get off this rock, and go laugh
somewhere else, for it is not here you shall laugh, so it is not! It is
not here you shall come ever again, for I do not want to have you, and I
do not want to see you, and I do not want to hear you, nor to have
anything to do with you!--never again, so long as I live--never, so help
me! And for my money, which is all you come for, and all you want, you
need not be asking me for any of it again--not for Micky Sulivan, or
anyone else--for I will not give you one thraneen more of my money, so
I will not--I will throw it into the sea first. I will not do anything
for you, and I will not see you, and for marrying you, I would not marry
you, not if you were made of solid gold from head to foot, and were
crowned King of all Ireland or of the world itself! For it is not such a
husband as _you_ I want, and so I tell you!’
She was back into the cabin and had shut the door before Murdough the
fluent could utter another word. He stood for a minute or two longer
upon the platform, then walked away rather soberly, scratching his chin
as he went. In his sense of the intense, the delightful, the utterly
convulsive absurdity of any comparison between himself and Teige
O’Shaughnessy he had momentarily forgotten the rather important errand
upon which he had come to speak to Grania. He remembered it now, and it
was with an uneasy sense that he had not perhaps managed his interview
quite as judiciously as he might have done. It is all very well to be
excessively witty and brilliantly sarcastic, but, then, it interferes
sometimes rather seriously with business.